


Silversong

by Soule



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Demon Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soule/pseuds/Soule
Summary: Follow Grimory through his training and rigorous struggle to become a demon hunter. This story is canon to the Grim and Ana storyline.





	1. Chapter 1

       The wind and cold rain whipped relentlessly at his face and borrowed armor, sparking against his skin like unseen needles. He narrowed his emerald eyes on the path ahead through the gusts. His horse sighed beneath him as its hooves sunk and stuck in the soft earth—what would normally be dry, cracked clay had become thick, damp, and cumbersome. His party followed on around him in a solemn silence, partly from the loud weather and partly from unease.  

       When the caravan rounded a bend in the trail, the canyon wall offered a small solace from the angry rain. The sight before them, however, offered none. The Dark Portal—stories tall and bookended by ominous hooded figures carved into its frame—stood waiting. The tension within the group grew thicker than the humidity around them. Thalassian whispers wove between the six or so men and women that the elven king had collected.

        Particles of magic fluttered from the swirling doorway as it loomed over them upon their approach. “Leave the horses,” the man at the head of their queue ordered and the recruits did as commanded, leaving the ornately armored royal escorts upon their steeds. Without command, the group sauntered toward the portal. Some showed little sign of wariness, but one lone woman remained with the mounted guards.

       “I-I’ve changed my mind,” she said quietly over the rain. “I’ll join the militia ranks at home. This is suicide.” Her voice was laden with panic though she did not raise it loud enough to cause alarm in the others.

       “An inapt time to make such a decision,” the guard beside her grumbled and his horse whickered. He lifted a muddied boot to her shoulder blades and pushed her forward hard enough to make her stumble but not fall. “Orders,” he merely snapped.

       “ _I volunteered!_ ” she cried as she turned with angry and desperate eyes.

       “Now _volunteer_ to follow through,” the man growled. “Lest we return with news of a terrible accident.”

       “An ambush, perhaps,” another guard added.

       “One casualty.”

       The woman’s jaw clenched and her fists trembled at her sides. Water, mingled with tears, dripped from her cheeks. With a feminine cry of frustration, she turned and followed the group into the whirling door of energy.

       Like a curtain of thick warmth, the portal washed over them as they stepped through. The other side greeted them with a heat they did not expect but welcomed all the same. The stone steps below shook as demons massive in size strode past at their base. The fearful woman with doubts unthinkingly grabbed at his arm and he tilted his head to give her a sideways glance as well as a calming hand on her shoulder.

       “Recruits!” came a voice from their far left. They turned to find a group of Sin’dorei. But they weren’t Sin’dorei. Horns crowned their heads and blindfolds tied neatly ‘neath their hair. Glowing tattoos cut through the great portal’s shadow. Behind them stood another, smaller portal crested with a pointed skull laughing at them through a mouth filled with fangs; it billowed with black and green smoke. “This way,” the man barked.

       Prying his arm away from the woman with gentility, he stepped forward with a coolness that betrayed himself. He wasn’t the first to go through, but he seemed the most eager.

       Music and the loud murmur of many voices at once filled his ears as they strode into the small annexed room made of a dark stone he’d never seen before. He casually ran a palm over the cold wall, then jerked as a hand behind his shoulder urged him toward the open doorway. He nodded beneath his helm and continued forth. The melody and conversation grew louder as they made their way into the foyer of a great hall. Silverware and cups clinked happily against ceramic. Delicious smells of succulent game fowl and rich roux flavored with fat and spices filled his nostrils and he found the underside of his tongue swimming in saliva. He swallowed.

       They were escorted through this hall and into a spire with stairs leading down. The music faded behind as they were ushered down a hallway. The sounds of their armor bounced from the heavy wooden doors that lined on either side as they passed. Occasionally he would catch a glance between the bars of their windows or through cracked doors and see more elves reclining on cots, reading, playing cards, or exercising; all, however, looked grave and worn. At the end the group trudged out onto a balcony nearly the size of the foyer above. Glaives, swords, and weights made of stone lined the walls around them.

       A tall, well-built elf stood before them in the center of the platform with blond hair cascading over his shoulders and black tattoos swirling around his chest and thick arms. He scrutinized them from behind a black blindfold and with hands folded neatly in the small of his back. “Remove your armor,” he said to them with a gravelly voice they had to nearly strain to hear. “From here on out, your bodies will serve as your protection.”

       The group hesitated, then slowly and one-by-one began shedding the breastplates, pauldrons, and greaves they’d been given for their journey. Left in nothing but their underclothes and sweat, they lined up with spines straight and faces ranging from maddening apprehension to cold stoicism.

       “I am Varedis. You may call me _sir_ ,” the man explained coolly as he stepped forward, his robes brushing along the stone floor of the mezzanine. He stopped when he received no response and the cords in his neck tightened.

       A moment of panicked realization passed between them before a scattered “ _Yes, sir!_ ” was echoed through their positions.

       Varedis gave a hum of approval followed by a nod. “I’ll be seeing to your training and progress.” He began to pace down the line, studying each elf’s face as he passed. “First on the itinerary: establishing your place here in the Black Temple and readying you for initiation.” He stopped and slowly scanned over them. “Six.” He gave a sort of laugh and turned to step again toward the middle of the platform. “You’ll be lucky if two of you survive.”

       The woman at the end gave a sort of whimper low enough for only those nearest her to hear.

       “One if this one is as useless as she’s making herself out to be,” Varedis continued, gesturing back over his shoulder at the woman without turning.

       “I-I’m not useless,” she responded after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m _anxious_. Surely the rest of these men—“

       “What’s your name?”

       She tensed and cleared her throat. “Illith’ra Fairwind,” she responded, then added a rushed _sir_ at the end.

       “Well, Fairwind, when you find yourself face-to-face with your enemy—and you will—and he sees a lineup of faces much like the one I see now, which face do you think will be the easiest target?” He motioned to a man near the middle. “This one with the fiery eyes set with determination and confidence?” His hand slid down the line to point at hers. “Or the quivering lips with tears gathering in the corners?”

       Illith’ra went quiet and fidgeted with her fingers behind her back.

       “Right,” continued Varedis and clasped his hands at the small of his spine once more. “Combat experience or not, training begins first thing in the morning. You will learn close combat, ranged combat, glaives and swords—two-handed and one-handed, infiltration, and tactics versus specific demons.” He begins to pace again. “If at any point any of you decide you’d be better off in the wastes of Shadowmoon Valley, you will be shepherded to the door. That, however, is where the escort will end and you will be on your own. No guide back to the Portal. No guide back to Silvermoon. No guide through the Outlands. Understood?”

       Another _“Yes,sir.”_ made its way down the line.

       “Good. See them to their chambers.”

       The horned elves at the door curtly nodded. “This way.”

       He was lead back into the hallway with many wooden doors. In two groups of two and two groups of one they had been ushered to rooms with empty cots to spare. He, as it happened, was placed in a room with the jittery Illith’ra. Casting nothing but a small glance around, he sat himself on an empty bed and pushed his ponytail over his shoulder before lying back to stare pensively at the ceiling.

       “New recruit day is always the best,” came a low voice from one of the two elves sitting on the floor playing poker with aged, tattered cards. His long red hair threatened to tickle the floor.

       “You have a queer definition of _best_ ,” grunted the Kaldorei across from him.

       He judged, by their faces, that they’d been here for a while—perhaps weeks. “Are we impeding on your alone time together?” he responded dully and brought his hands up to lace the fingers behind his head. There came a silence where he was certain they were glowering at him. To his surprise the Sin’dorei gave a breathy chuckle and flipped a card.

       “I’m Baemalen Dawnwhisper. This is—”

       “Eldon Feathermane,” the Night Elf grumbled with restraint and through grit teeth.

       Baemalen tilted his head to give Illith’ra a sort of grin. “We don’t get too many women through here and fewer make it through initiation. What brings you to Lord Illidan’s doorstep?”

       The woman set herself upon her own cot and toyed with her fingers in her lap. “After Silvermoon fell, I wanted to help,” she said after some collection. “The Lich King only grows stronger and I’d heard that the Legion next threatens Azeroth.” She swallowed. “I want to be something greater.”

       “Don’t we all,” Eldon snorted.

       “Well, _something greater_ , do you have a more formal name?” Baemalen brought his hair around and over his shoulder to keep it from touching the dirty stone. He nodded when she told him. “I knew a Fairwind as a child. Spry fellow. Always in trouble. We weren’t _friends_ per se but it wasn’t uncommon to find us causing a commotion in the trade district.” He chews on his words for a moment. “Shiran? Shirath? Shiraz?”

       Eldon snorted a laugh.

       “Shiro’nath?”

       “That’s the one.” He flipped another card and the Night Elf tossed down his cards in irritation.

       “My brother,” Illith’ra said with a small smile and brought her knees up to her chest to hug them. “Our parents could never get a reign on him. He became a Guardsman with more ease than anyone’d ever seen.” Her smile faltered. “He’s a death knight, now.”

       Baemalen give a small nod and gathered the cards for shuffling. “A shame. My condolences.”

       Eldon glanced over his white braid. “What about you?”

       A silence passed until he realized he’d been addressed. He sat up on his elbows to return the unenthused stare. “What about me?” he finally responded with equal disinterest.

       “No dramatic backstory for you? No dead brother?”

       Baemalen hissed and leaned forward to strike the Kaldorei with the backs of his fingers. He cast an apologetic smile to Illith’ra who merely shrugged and shrunk back onto her bed.

       “No. Just a farmboy.”

       “Exciting.” Eldon brought fingernails up for inspection. “Do farmboys get names these days? I simply wouldn’t know.”

       “You seem pretty interested in me. If you’re not careful your companion may succumb to the cold grips of jealousy.”

       Baemalen barked a laugh as he shuffled. “Nope. He’s all yours, friend.” He flicked a card into Eldon’s lap.

       “How comforting,” he said and leaned back again. “I’m Grimory.”

       “Is your surname not honorable enough to mention?”

       “Silversong.”

       Eldon knit his brow. “A predominantly Kaldorei name.”

       “My mother is Kaldorei.”

       “I’m uninclined to believe that.”

       “My father is Draenei.”

       Eldon looked up from his cards with an unamused glare. “Jokes won’t get you far, here, boy.”

       “I thought it was pretty funny,” Baemalen mused.

       Grimory shrugged. “Fortunate, then, that I’ve inadvertently decided on demon hunter as a profession as opposed to a comedian.” His ears pricked at the sound of a small chortle from Illith’ra’s direction. “I was adopted.”

       Eldon hummed. “Tragic.”

       “Sure is,” Grimory hummed in return, closing his eyes.

       “So what brings you here, then?” Baemalen added with infinitely more interest than Eldon presented.

       “I’d heard about the Sunwell a while ago. Felt quite badly for the Sin’dorei people. Wanted to know more and felt some sort of urge to help. Showed up to join their militia, was sent here instead.”

       “So you’re Quel’dorei.”

       “You aren’t angry that they deceived us?” Illith’ra said quietly from her corner.

       “Not particularly. If this is how I can help then so be it. The Prince seems to be doing what he feels is right.”

       “Can we truly trust this… _demon lord_?” she inquired over her knees.

       “If we’re to be fighting demons then perhaps learning from one is the best course of action.” Grimory lifted himself again to push back and rest his upper back against the cool stone wall. “Kael’thas seems to trust him.”

       Illith’ra fell silent in a moment of apparent surrender.

       “Lord Illidan is a wise and strong man,” Eldon grumbled. “Training has been rigorous but they’ve yet to mistreat us here. Consider yourself in good hands.”

       She gave a noise of apprehension but otherwise offered no response.

       “Sounds fair to me,” Grimory added and folded his hands over his stomach. “So do we have to train in our undergarments? When do we upgrade to the tattered rags you two are wearing?”

       Baemalen chuckled. “You’ll get them when they’re available. Since even those who pass initiation sometimes find it hard to cope or slowly lose themselves, there’s been a large influx of recruits lately. Many’ll die soon enough and you’ll get their hand-me-downs.”

       Another whimper came from the corner.

       “If you make it _really_ far into the ranks, you’ll get a nice skirt like Varedis has.”

       Grimory couldn’t contain a chuckle. “Does Illidan wear a bodice and heels, then?”

       Even the stony-faced Eldon joined the two in a laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Illith'ra hit the hard stone with a pained grunt. She sighed as she pushed to rest on her elbows, then blew a puff from the corner of her lips to rid her face of a thick shock of chocolate hair. A callused hand reached down to assist her and she took it. 

“You all right?”

She nodded and gave Grimory a defeated smile. “It's been two weeks and I still can't dodge a bolo counterstrike.” 

“Nothing is mastered in two weeks.” He set a reassuring hand on her shoulder and stepped away to again take up an offensive stance. 

The rest of the recruits had left to the mess hall for an early dinner and banter, but Grimory had promised to help his comrade with her defensive melee form. It hadn't been long before the two of them, as well as the other four recruits, were graced with worn leather shorts and sleeveless vests. While Varedis frequently commended the others on their sharp learning curves, Illith'ra often found herself under intense scrutiny caused by her failures. But she refused to falter. 

She tightened the tape around her wrists with her teeth, then lifted her fists. “Okay. Come on.” 

The tanned, blond elf before her moved with a quickness she'd come to expect and her body reacted on its own. His fist hit her hard on the forearm and the shock rang through to her teeth. His left fist came from the opposite direction and she ducked away with her arms in front of her face. When his knee came up next, she rolled to the side. She recovered and swept a leg under him. 

Grimory leapt over the appendage with a small hop, then brought down a fist toward her neck, intent on not letting her recover to her feet. She quickly covered the area with her hand and hissed when his knuckles collided with hers. Staggered but still focused, Illith'ra backed away and stood upright. But he was already upon her. His left fist, from below, struck her hard in the jaw and she cried out before falling onto her hind end. Jaw throbbing, she let herself fall onto her back. 

“Sorry. That was a bit hard. Are you hurt?” He again bent to extend a hand. 

“Only my pride,” she groaned and stood again with his help. “...and my face.” She hissed when she touched the spot to find the skin split and bleeding. 

Grimory frowned. “You want to stop?” 

Her brow furrowed and fire sparked in her verdant eyes. She rubbed off the blood with the back of a wrist and shook her head.

This time it was he who sighed. “Once more, then, yeah? It's getting late.” He took up his stance again. “Okay, I'm going give you a bolo, you're going to counter, then  _ I'm _ going to counter, then I'm going to show you where you need improvement.”

Illith'ra nodded and took up a similar form. He wasted no time coming from her lower left. She blocked again with a forearm and grit her teeth when the strike landed in the same spot. She aimed a hook to his jaw in retaliation. 

“Stop.” 

She froze, her knuckles centimeters from the underside of his chin. 

“You shouldn't be countering with an uppercut if your left arm is busy blocking.” He slowly brought his left fist around and up, completely avoiding her right arm, and set his knuckles against her bloody jaw. “I know it seems like the easy option because I'm not guarding my chest or throat, but it leaves you open here. Counter me with a hook.” He stepped forward and set his hands on her dirty fists. Slowly, methodically, he reset her stance. 

Her cheeks involuntary warmed in the heat of Shadowmoon’s evening as he pushed her hips squared, then bent to adjust her legs and heels as well. He pushed her hair over her shoulder and adjusted her spine’s position.

“All right.” He rounded to stand before her again, fists raised. “Ready?” 

She smirked. “You said only once more.” 

“I guess I'm a liar.” He swung. She blocked. He rolled his shoulder to wind up his counter, but before he could throw the strike, her knee thrust hard into his core. 

Grimory staggered back, slightly bent and coughing from having the wind knocked from his lungs. His coughing tailed into a soft chuckle. Then a laugh. He rubbed at the sore spot on his diaphragm and straightened, a crooked grin on his lips. “Was that for lying?” 

Illith'ra gave a small smile and stretched an arm with the crook of the other. Her shoulder gave a pop. “Yes, actually. I hate liars. More than demons, as it were.” The two chuckled. She then groaned tiredly and stepped toward the mezzanine exit while he followed. 

Back in the dining hall, the sounds of a merriment that only the desolate wasteland of Shadowmoon Valley could inspire wafted through the humid air swirling in through open windows and doors. A lot of the recruits and higher ranking Illidari had already retired to their chambers, leaving many open benches. 

Baemalen waved them over and lowered a brow at the woman as they neared. “He didn't go easy on you, I see.” 

Grimory pursed his lips as he took up a seat beside Eldon. “She asked me to." He reached to tear a leg from a game bird roasted with spices and imported lemons and oranges. 

“I'll be fine,” she explained coolly and sat across from him, then smiled as she dipped a piece of cold bread into the still warm gravy pooled beneath the bird. “Besides, I paid him back in kind.” 

“I don't see any bruises on him,” Eldon grumbled, then perked and scowled when Grimory reached across and took a drink from his ivory cup of dry red wine. “ _ Yet. _ ” 

The blond elf looked up at him, then maintained eye contact as he brought the cup back to his lips and drained it. He set it back before him, gave the Kaldorei a pat on the shoulder, then returned to his leg of meat. “She's getting better. How have you two been getting along?” 

“ _ Famously, _ ” Baemalen cooed, his cheeks pink with wine and his chin in his palm. 

“He means our training, you nitwit.” Eldon refilled his cup from the flagon and moved it out of Grimory's reach. “We go out for initiation tomorrow.” 

Grimory's face fell along with Illith'ra’s. “Initiation?”

“After only two months of training?” Illith'ra knit her brow in concern. “But…” 

“They've deemed our skills well enough to train on the field,” Eldon continued in his calm, stony manner. “We leave at dawn.” 

Grimory furrowed his brow as well and glanced across to Baemalen. “You're not…?” 

“Terrified?” the red head said through his ever present grin. “Of course.” He drank heavily from his cup. 

Eldon lowered his ears some but otherwise remained stoic. <<He thinks he can drown it in wine,>> he growled in Darnassian. 

Grimory returned to his roasted fowl. <<Perhaps he can.>>

The night elf grumbled. 

“I know some of those words,” Baemalen chirped, his grin widening. “For your information, I  _ am  _ rather anxious, but I'm also--" He stifled a hiccup into the back of a hand. “--confident. We've worked our asses off to get this far.” 

Illith'ra set a hand still bound with bandages on Baemalen’s shoulder and offered up an encouraging smile. He turned and chuckled, setting his fingers over hers and lowering his eyelids. “Perhaps a kiss for good luck, fair maiden?” 

Illith'ra laughed and shoved her other hand over his face when he leaned forward. 

Grimory reached over and took Baemalen’s cup. “I think you've had about enough, yeah?” 

 

The next morning Illith'ra woke to find the cots adjacent to hers and Grimory's empty. She sat up slowly and tossed her feet over the side of her bed and onto the cool, stone floor. She strode over and sat on the side of her remaining roommate's hard bed. Her fingers fumbled over one another.

Grimory suddenly turned to look over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed and tired. “What's wrong?” 

“They're gone.” 

He craned his head to look up at the other two beds, then lowered his ear back to his lumpy linen pillow. “Didn't even say goodbye,” he grumbled. 

Illith'ra pursed her lips. “ _ Goodbye? _ You think they won't come back?” 

“It's rare people do. You knew that from day one.” 

The girl frowned. “What if  _ we _ don't come back?” 

“Chances are we won't. And even if we do, it's possible we'll lose our minds. The odds are not kind.” 

Illith'ra bit her lip and wrung the hem of her tunic. “That's not very comforting.” 

Grimory sighed and sat up on his elbows to look at her. He gave her a look of exasperation and understanding. “Look, Illi, it's best you learn to embrace that which you cannot control, yeah? Lying to yourself or coming to me for comfort isn't doing you any favors.” 

Her face fell and she looked down at her worn hands. “I know that. But…” 

“But?” 

“Don't you just wish someone were there for you? Since we've been here, I mean. Just...hug you and tell you you're strong enough?” 

Grimory chuckled. “Those are the most feminine words I've ever heard come from someone's lips.” 

She scowled at him. “What's wrong with that?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing, I suppose. As long as it doesn't cloud your judgment out in the field.” 

A sigh escaped her. “Don't you miss your farm? Your parents?” 

“All the time.” 

“So why?” 

“Why did I leave? Because some things are more important than one's feelings.” 

Illith'ra’s emerald eyes flicked from her hands, to the floor, to him, then back. She forced herself to smile. “You're right.” She hummed a laugh. “Maybe, if I work really hard, I can be so confident in my abilities that I won't be terrified. Like Baemalen.” 

Grimory gave a soft, groggy laugh and lay back down. “No offense to him, gods bless his soul, but you don't want to aspire to be that man.” 

Illith'ra lowered a brow and snerked. “But he's oh so charming. And funny. And pretty. Prettier than I.” 

Grimory rolled his eyes. “That's untrue,” he muttered, then blinked. “Uhm, I mean…” 

The girl at his side blushed and tittered. She pat him on the cheek. “Don't pull something trying to recover.” 

“Well I couldn't lie. You'd knee me in the gut again.” 

Illith'ra chortled again and stood. “Speaking of guts, I'm going to grab breakfast.” 

“Have fun. I'm going back to sleep until it's time for training.” He turned back toward the wall as the door closed. 

 

Eighteen days had since passed and Illith'ra found herself missing her two missing roommates more and more with each passing day. As a result she monopolized on Grimory's company--staying up late to research demons and their weaknesses, with his assistance training harder than she'd thought she could, polishing glaives when the rounds of chores fell on their squadron. Their bodies had begun taking shape with their training, scabbed wounds and bruises constantly marring their arms and legs while muscles rose beneath their skin. 

After another tiring bout of after-training training, she and her--quickly becoming closest--friend rested against the railing of the combat practice balcony. Skin glistening with sweat and trace amounts of blood, they sipped tepid water from flasks and looked out over the shattered Outlands, the demons stomping in the distance, and the netherwings occasionally gliding against the sparkling dark beyond. Fountains of felfire would occasionally explode from the dark soil and a green haze lazed through the sky. 

Grimory picked up a lone pebble near the banister and hurled it over the edge, watching as it fell and eventually became too small to see. 

“Thank you,” the woman beside him said, her soft voice cutting through the silence.

He turned his head. “...for?” 

“Everything, really.” She chuckled and did not return his gaze. “Helping me train. Talking to me. Believing in me.” 

“I hate seeing people struggle.” He drank from his flask. “And have a hard time sitting by and watching anything that I could otherwise help with.” 

“That's quite noble.” She finally turned to smile at him. 

“As far as I see it, it's just common sense.” 

“Hm. Perhaps.” Illith'ra turns to rest the small of her back against the stone railing and circles a fingertip on the metal ring of her flask. She hesitates. “Have you heard anything about Bae and Donnie?” 

He shook his head. “I'm sure they're fine, yeah? It takes a long time to transverse these lands by foot. They weren't even given mounts.” 

She nodded absently, her own question spurring visions of her two friends braving the unforgiving terrain and even more unforgiving Legion. The images eventually lead into ones of their crumpled, defeated bodies strewn amongst others in the dirt, a conglomeration of everyone's blood pooling below while infernals and pitlords stomp through it. She blinked as Grimory's hand neared her face and wiped at her cheek with the back of a finger. “O-Oh.” She sniffled and turned away to wipe her tears and laugh. “Sorry. I was just…” 

“It's okay. I'm worried, too.” 

His words ushered forth more tears that she could not hold back and she pressed a hand over her mouth lest her shaking breath did the same. She tensed when his warm fingers curled around her shoulder. 

“Please don't cry,” he mumbled. “Honestly, Illi, they'll be-- _ oof! _ ” His brow knit down at the woman with her arms around him. A moment lingered by before he returned the embrace. He smoothed a palm over her back and she heard his lungs fill before he sighed. 

She looked up at him and a smile spread between the wet tear trails. 

“There you are,” came a voice from across the mezzanine. The two jumped and pushed away from each other as though cold water had been thrown over them. “The previous expedition has returned. Figured you'd be interested,” said Maliris Wyrmbane, one of the younger Sin’dorei that had accompanied them to the portal. He smirked and turned away to return to return to his chambers. 

The two looked at one another, ears perked with excitement, then practically scrambled for the door. 

Back in the massive foyer, a small crowd had gathered around a couple new--or seemingly so--faces. Two men--both Kaldorei--pressed through the amazed eyes and questions with newly acquired horns sprouting from their heads and both red and verdant blood covering their bodies and faces.

“Eldon…?” Illith'ra whispered, stepping forward through the recruits. 

The night elf perked at the sound of her voice and turned. Illith'ra shrank back at the sight of him. Trails of his own blood fell from the empty sockets of his eyes and where his horns protruded from his head, covering his cheeks. Demonic blood stained his lips and chin. His robes were tattered and stained and weeping gashes and scabs covered his body. His new, flickering, green eyes seemed to settle upon the two. 

“What happened to you?” Grimory inquired quietly. 

Eldon merely shook his head and turned for the stairs. “I need to speak with Lord Illidan.” 

Illith'ra lurched forward to grab him by the shoulder and followed. “W-Wait!” She struggled to keep pace. “Baemalen! Where's Baemalen?” Eldon shrugged her hand from his shoulder and continued on. His words made her stop and her eyes widened. 

“I don't know.”


End file.
